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Forbidden Love Stories
You met her a few months ago, and somehow she managed to seep into your subconscious mind like that “Sugar how you get so fly” song. Just like you have no clue who the hell sings it, you don’t know why she’s there. But she is, whether you like it or not. You know her cell phone, her room phone. You can dial her Aunt Doreen’s house in West Springfield (Where she goes to do her laundry every two weeks) faster than you can peck out 911. However, she doesn’t know. Her screen name, that generic one with her first name followed by three to five random numbers or UMass, has its own category at the top of your buddy list. Not only do you know what a “Buddy Alert” is, you’ve rigged your computer to play “Fat Guy in a Little Coat” from “Tommy Boy” every time her screen name changes from gray to black. Then her away message comes down and you have a decision to make. To Instant Message or not to Instant Message her? These are the ridiculous games that you play on a daily basis. However, she doesn’t know. She’s it. All right, maybe not “It” it. Not necessarily Ms. Right, but close to Ms. Right. She’s up there with - Anna Kournikova - and - Lizzie McGuire - on your list of - people you’d give anything to be stranded with on a broken down elevator. But it’s about more than that. When is it ever about more than that? Never. Not like frilly white dress, overpriced catering, embarrassing drunk in-laws. But closer to UMass sweatpants, two D.P. Dough Roni Zonies, a futon and a movie you have no interest in seeing more. However, she doesn’t know. She’s gorgeous, but gorgeous is an understatement. More like you’re startled every time you see her because you notice something new in a “Where’s Waldo” sort of way. More like you can’t stop writing third grade run-on sentences because you can’t remotely begin to describe something… someone… so inherently amazing. But you’re a writer. You can describe anything. That’s what you do - pictures to words, events to words, words to even better words. But nothing seems right. More like you’re afraid that if you stare at her for too long, you’ll prove your parents right - that yes, your face will stick that way. However, you wouldn’t mind. You wouldn’t mind the questioning but “Hello?” on the other end makes you want to smile and throw up at the same time. You wouldn’t mind worrying about what to get her for her birthday and spending $300 when you only have $17.50 and a Triple-A card to your name. You wouldn’t mind that she left your television on and the blaring infomercials wake you up at 4 a.m.… Because it gives you a chance to watch her sleep. You don’t mind that you’ve slipped up twice when you were hammered and hinted at how you feel but she was too drunk to remember. Hence, she doesn’t know.
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